550. Aftermath Of The First Match - The King Of Arsenal

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...

Because for Arsenal, the season had begun perfectly.

The tunnel swallowed them again.

But this time, it felt different.

Lighter.

Victorious.

The echo of the crowd still chased them down the corridor, bouncing off the concrete walls like it refused to let go of the moment. Boots tapped against the floor in a slower rhythm now. Not rushed. Not tense.

Satisfied.

Francesco walked beside Walker, the match ball tucked securely under his arm. He could still feel the texture of it against his fingers that slightly rough, still warm from the game.

Walker nudged him.

"You're sleeping with that tonight, aren't you?"

Francesco didn't even look at him.

"Obviously."

Walker laughed.

"Man of the match, hat-trick, captain… you're collecting everything today."

Francesco smirked faintly.

"Not everything."

Walker raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? What's missing?"

Francesco glanced ahead toward the dressing room door.

"The season."

Walker let out a low whistle.

"Greedy."

"Always."

They reached the dressing room entrance, but before Francesco could step inside, a voice called out behind him.

"Francesco!"

He turned.

A staff member in official Premier League attire was jogging toward him, headset resting over her ear, a badge clipped neatly to her jacket.

"Hi," she said, slightly out of breath but smiling professionally. "Sorry, can I grab you for a quick interview?"

Walker immediately stepped back with a grin.

"Ooooh, superstar duties."

Francesco rolled his eyes lightly.

"Give me a minute," he said to Walker before turning back to her.

"Yeah, of course."

"Just on the sideline," she said, gesturing back toward the pitch.

"It'll be quick."

Francesco adjusted his grip on the match ball.

"Alright."

He followed her.

Walking back out toward the stadium felt surreal.

The noise hit him again the moment the tunnel opened, but now it wasn't the intense roar of competition.

It was celebration.

Sustained.

Joyful.

The kind of noise that came from thousands of people leaving a stadium happy.

Francesco stepped onto the edge of the pitch again.

The grass looked slightly worn now.

Marked.

Used.

A battlefield that had already told its story for the day.

Near the sideline, a small media setup had been arranged.

A camera on a tripod.

A cameraman adjusting focus.

And standing in front of it, holding a microphone, was the interviewer.

She looked up as Francesco approached.

Smiled.

Professional, but genuine.

"Perfect timing," she said.

Francesco nodded, shifting the ball slightly under his arm.

"You ready?"

"Whenever you are."

The cameraman raised a hand.

"Rolling in five."

Francesco took a breath.

Not nervous.

Just aware.

This was different from the pitch.

Different kind of performance.

"Three…"

"Two…"

"One…"

The interviewer's posture shifted instantly.

Camera-ready.

Smile precise.

Voice clear.

"Hello and welcome back to the Emirates Stadium," she began, her voice carrying that polished broadcast tone.

"Arsenal have just opened their Premier League campaign with a dominant 5–1 victory over Leicester City, and I'm joined now by the man of the moment…"

She turned slightly toward him.

"Francesco Lee."

The camera zoomed slightly.

Focused.

"First of all," she continued, "congratulations on the win to start the season."

Francesco nodded.

"Thank you."

"And of course," she added with a smile, glancing briefly at the ball under his arm, "congratulations on the hat-trick."

Francesco looked down at the ball for a split second.

Then back at her.

"Thank you."

The crowd noise behind them still echoed faintly.

Supporters lingering.

Chants continuing in waves.

The interviewer continued smoothly.

"It's the perfect start, isn't it? Opening day, big match, and you come away with such a strong performance. How does that feel?"

Francesco paused for a moment.

Not searching for words.

Just choosing the right ones.

"It feels good," he said simply.

"First match of the season is always important."

He shifted his weight slightly, still relaxed.

"We wanted to start strong."

"And I think we did that today."

The interviewer nodded.

"You certainly did."

She glanced toward the pitch briefly.

"Five goals, a dominant display… but it wasn't an easy match throughout, especially after Leicester pulled one back before halftime. What was the message at the break?"

Francesco's expression sharpened slightly.

"Stay focused."

"Control the game."

He gestured lightly with his free hand.

"They're dangerous on transitions, we know that."

"So it was about not giving them those moments."

He added, almost as an afterthought.

"And finishing the game properly."

The interviewer smiled.

"Which you definitely did."

She shifted slightly.

"Let's talk about your goals."

A small pause.

"That first one early in the match with a calm, composed finish. Did you feel the confidence immediately after that?"

Francesco shrugged lightly.

"I always feel confident."

A hint of a smirk.

"But scoring early helps the team."

"It gives us control."

"And after that, we just kept building."

The interviewer laughed softly.

"I like that 'just kept building.'"

She continued.

"The second goal though… that was something special."

Her tone carried a bit more excitement now.

"A solo run, beating multiple defenders, and finishing with such composure. What was going through your mind in that moment?"

Francesco looked out toward the pitch for a second.

Replaying it.

Then back at her.

"Nothing."

She blinked.

"Nothing?"

He nodded.

"Just instinct."

"I saw space."

"I moved."

"After that… it's automatic."

There was something in the way he said it.

Not arrogance.

Just clarity.

Understanding of his own game.

The interviewer smiled again, clearly impressed.

"And then the hat-trick goal early in the second half."

She gestured slightly.

"That run, that timing… it looked perfectly executed."

Francesco nodded.

"Good pass from Xhaka."

"Perfect timing."

He tapped his chest lightly.

"You just have to be ready."

The interviewer tilted her head slightly.

"You make it sound very simple."

Francesco smirked again.

"It is simple."

A pause.

"If you train enough."

That line hung for a second.

Then she nodded, appreciating it.

She shifted the conversation.

"Now, you weren't just the goal scorer today as you were also wearing the captain's armband like always."

Her tone softened slightly.

"You're only eighteen years old, and yet you're leading this team. What does that responsibility mean to you?"

Francesco looked down at his arm instinctively.

The armband still there.

Then back up.

"It means everything."

He said it quietly.

But clearly.

"This club…"

He paused.

Searching for the right words this time.

"…it trusts me."

"And I don't take that lightly."

He glanced briefly toward the stands.

Still full of fans.

"They expect something from us."

"From me."

"So I just try to lead by example."

The interviewer nodded slowly.

"And I think it's fair to say you did that today."

She smiled.

"Hat-trick on opening day as captain, that's quite a statement."

Francesco didn't react much.

Just a small nod.

"Just the first match."

She continued.

"Leicester, of course, came into this match with a lot of attention on them after last season and even more so after the recent transfer of Riyad Mahrez."

She glanced toward him.

"Did that change your approach going into the game at all?"

Francesco shook his head slightly.

"Not really."

"They're still a strong team."

"Still dangerous."

He added,

"Players change, but the system stays."

"And we respected that."

The interviewer nodded.

"They certainly showed moments of that today."

"Especially with Vardy's goal."

Francesco gave a small nod.

"He's always dangerous."

The interviewer took a small step forward.

"Final question."

She smiled.

"It's only the first match of the season, but after a performance like this, expectations are already high."

She paused.

"What's next for you and for Arsenal?"

Francesco didn't answer immediately.

He looked out again.

The pitch.

The stands.

The stadium.

Then back at her.

"We keep going."

Simple.

Direct.

"No one wins the league in the first match."

He adjusted the ball slightly under his arm.

"But you can set the tone."

He paused.

"And this is a good start."

The interviewer smiled brightly.

"Francesco, thank you very much for your time and once again, congratulations on the win and your hat-trick performance."

Francesco nodded.

"Thank you."

The cameraman lowered the camera.

"Cut."

Just like that, the moment shifted back to normal.

The interviewer relaxed slightly.

"That was great," she said.

Francesco shrugged.

"Thanks."

She glanced at the ball again.

"Make sure you keep that safe."

Francesco smiled.

"I will."

He turned and began walking back toward the tunnel.

This time, slower.

More aware of everything around him.

The stadium was still alive.

Fans still singing.

Still cheering.

Some of them noticed him again as he walked.

"Francesco!"

"Hat-trick hero!"

He raised a hand slightly in acknowledgment.

Not stopping.

Just appreciating.

At the tunnel entrance, Walker was waiting.

Of course he was.

"Took you long enough," Walker said.

Francesco raised the ball slightly.

"Important business."

Walker grinned.

"Famous now."

Francesco walked past him.

"Always was."

Walker laughed loudly as he followed.

And together, they disappeared back into the tunnel.

But the energy didn't disappear.

It followed them.

Not as noise anymore but as something carried in their steps, in the way their shoulders sat a little higher, in the quiet smiles that slipped through even when no one was speaking.

Walker bumped into Francesco lightly again as they reached the dressing room door.

"Alright," he said, pushing it open, "now we celebrate properly."

The door swung wide.

And instantly, the atmosphere changed.

Music.

Loud.

Familiar.

The kind of songs they always played after a win with beats echoing against the tiled walls, bass vibrating through the benches and lockers.

Laughter mixed into it.

Voices overlapping.

Someone shouting something no one fully heard.

Water bottles being tossed.

Boots kicked off.

The tension of ninety minutes was gone.

Replaced by release.

Giroud was already in the middle of the room, arms raised slightly, moving to the rhythm.

"Five goals!" he called out, grinning.

"Five!"

Walker joined in immediately.

"And three from this guy!" he shouted, pointing dramatically at Francesco as he walked in.

A few players turned.

Applause broke out.

Not formal.

Not forced.

Just genuine.

Sánchez clapped once, nodding toward him.

"Good game."

Özil gave him a small thumbs up from his seat.

Xhaka smirked.

"Hat-trick. Not bad."

Francesco rolled his eyes slightly, though the corner of his mouth lifted.

"It's one game."

Walker threw an arm around his shoulders.

"One game? It's the first game."

"That's the best one."

Francesco shook him off lightly.

"Let me breathe."

Walker laughed.

"Alright, alright. Captain needs his space."

Francesco walked toward his locker.

Placed the match ball carefully inside, almost instinctively making sure it sat securely.

Safe.

Then he grabbed a towel.

The music continued behind him.

The room alive.

But his focus shifted.

He needed a moment.

The shower area was quieter.

Still loud from the music filtering through the walls, but softer.

Distant.

More manageable.

Steam already filled the air slightly.

A few players were already under the water.

Heads down.

Letting the match wash off them.

Francesco stepped in, turning on the water above him.

It hit his shoulders instantly.

Warm.

Relaxing.

For a few seconds, he just stood there.

Eyes closed.

Letting everything settle.

The runs.

The goals.

The noise.

The responsibility.

All of it.

It didn't disappear.

But it softened.

He leaned forward slightly, hands resting against the tiled wall.

Breathing steady.

There was always a moment like this after a match.

Win or lose.

A quiet pause where everything slowed down again.

Where the adrenaline faded just enough to let reality catch up.

Today, that reality felt good.

Very good.

Three goals.

Captain.

Opening day.

Statement made.

Water ran down his face as he tilted his head back.

Somewhere in the background, he could hear Walker shouting something again.

Probably singing now.

Francesco smirked slightly to himself.

Then after a few minutes, he stepped back.

Turned off the water.

Grabbed his towel.

Dried off quickly.

No rush, but no delay either.

The day wasn't finished yet.

When he stepped back into the main room, the atmosphere hadn't changed.

If anything, it had gotten louder.

Music still playing.

Players still moving around.

Giroud now sitting with his boots off, talking animatedly to Ramsey.

Cazorla laughing at something Walker said.

Sánchez leaned back in his seat, finally relaxing, though his eyes still carried that competitive edge.

Francesco walked to his locker again.

Opened it.

The match ball sat there.

Waiting.

He glanced at it for a second.

Then reached for his clothes.

The Arsenal jumpsuit.

Clean.

Comfortable.

Post-match routine.

He pulled it on, zipping it halfway before sitting down.

Around him, the noise continued.

But now he was more aware of something else.

Fatigue.

Not heavy.

But present.

The kind that came after full effort.

After intensity.

After responsibility.

Walker dropped onto the bench beside him.

"Interview go well?"

Francesco nodded.

"Yeah."

Walker grinned.

"What did you say?"

Francesco shrugged.

"The usual."

Walker shook his head.

"You're boring."

"Efficient," Francesco corrected.

Walker laughed.

"Same thing."

Across the room, the door opened.

And the atmosphere shifted slightly again.

Not silence.

But awareness.

Arsène Wenger stepped into the dressing room.

Calm.

Composed.

As always.

The music didn't stop immediately, but it lowered.

Just a little.

Out of respect.

Players straightened slightly.

Some still smiling.

Some catching their breath.

Wenger looked around the room.

Took it in.

The energy.

The result.

The performance.

Then he nodded once.

"Good work."

Simple.

But meaningful.

He didn't overpraise.

He never did.

But everyone understood.

Five goals.

Control.

Execution.

It was exactly what he had asked for.

He stepped further into the room.

"Enjoy this," he added.

"Because you earned it."

A few players nodded.

Giroud raised a hand slightly.

"Always enjoy it, boss."

A few laughs.

Wenger allowed a faint smile.

Then his expression sharpened slightly.

Not serious.

But focused again.

"Recovery tomorrow."

"Then we prepare again."

The reminder.

Always forward.

Always the next step.

He turned slightly.

His eyes finding two players.

"Francesco."

Francesco looked up immediately.

"Petr."

On the other side of the room, Petr Čech lifted his head.

"Yes."

Wenger gestured lightly.

"Come with me."

Francesco stood.

No hesitation.

Čech followed, calm as ever.

Walker leaned back as Francesco passed him.

"Press conference time, captain."

Francesco didn't respond.

Just gave a small nod.

The corridor outside the dressing room felt quieter than before.

The music faded behind them.

Replaced by a more professional atmosphere.

Staff moving quickly.

Media personnel preparing.

Voices speaking in lower tones.

Francesco walked beside Čech and Wenger.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Čech glanced toward him.

"Good performance."

Francesco nodded.

"Thank you."

Čech gave a small smile.

"Three goals in the first match."

"Not bad."

Francesco smirked slightly.

"Could've been four."

Čech chuckled softly.

"Always more."

Wenger walked ahead of them.

Hands behind his back.

Silent.

But aware of everything.

They turned a corner.

Then another.

Until they reached the press room entrance.

Outside, journalists were already gathering.

Cameras.

Microphones.

Notebooks.

Voices rising slightly as they prepared.

A staff member opened the door.

"They're ready."

Wenger nodded.

Then stepped inside.

Flashes.

Immediate.

Bright.

Camera lights reflecting off the backdrop behind the table.

The Arsenal crest repeated across it.

Sponsors lined neatly beneath.

Rows of journalists filled the seats.

Some leaning forward.

Some already writing.

Some raising cameras again.

Wenger took his seat in the center.

Čech to his right.

Francesco to his left.

Microphones adjusted.

Water bottles placed in front of them.

The room quieted slightly.

But the energy remained.

Anticipation.

Questions waiting to be asked.

The moderator stepped forward.

"Good afternoon."

He glanced at the panel.

"We'll begin with the manager, then open to questions."

Wenger nodded once.

Ready.

Francesco leaned back slightly in his chair.

Match ball not here anymore.

But the weight of the game still present.

Beside him, Čech sat calmly.

Experienced.

Unshaken.

Francesco glanced around the room.

Journalists.

Cameras.

Attention.

The room held its breath for a fraction of a second.

Then the first hand went up.

A journalist in the front row stood, microphone already in hand.

"All right, Arsène," he began, voice clear, practiced. "Strong start to the season. Five–one, dominant performance. What pleased you most today?"

Arsène Wenger leaned forward slightly, hands folded loosely in front of him.

He didn't rush.

He never did.

"The collective performance," he said calmly.

His accent wrapped around the words softly, but each one landed with clarity.

"We started with good intensity. We were focused from the first minute."

He glanced briefly toward Francesco, then back at the journalist.

"And after we conceded, we responded well."

A small pause.

"That is important."

Pens scratched across notebooks immediately.

Another journalist raised his hand.

"Arsène, you mentioned the response after conceding. Leicester seemed to grow into the game before halftime. Were you concerned at that point?"

Wenger nodded slightly.

"Yes, of course."

He didn't deny it.

"They have quality. They have speed in transition."

He tapped his fingers lightly against the table.

"When you give them space, they can hurt you."

His eyes sharpened just a touch.

"But in the second half, we controlled the game better."

"We were more disciplined."

"And we finished our chances."

A murmur of agreement spread through the room.

Another question came quickly.

"Can you talk about your captain today?" the reporter asked, turning slightly toward Francesco. "Hat-trick on opening day, leading the line at just eighteen…"

Wenger allowed the smallest smile.

"Yes."

He leaned back slightly.

"He had an outstanding performance."

His gaze moved directly to Francesco now.

"But what I like most is not only the goals."

He gestured lightly.

"It is his movement. His decision-making."

"He understands the game."

A pause.

"And he works for the team."

Francesco didn't react much outwardly.

But he heard it.

Every word.

Another journalist leaned forward.

"Do you think performances like this set the tone for the title defense?"

Wenger shook his head slightly.

"It is only the first game."

The same message again.

Consistent.

"But it gives confidence."

He folded his arms lightly.

"And confidence is important."

Another hand shot up.

"Arsène, one more. With the recent transfer of Riyad Mahrez, did you expect Leicester to struggle more today?"

Wenger's expression didn't change much.

"No."

He answered simply.

"They are a strong team."

"Players change, but the structure remains."

He leaned forward again slightly.

"We respected them."

"And we prepared well."

The moderator nodded.

"Thank you."

He glanced toward the right.

"We'll move to Petr."

Petr Čech adjusted slightly in his chair.

Calm.

Composed.

Exactly as he was on the pitch.

A journalist spoke up immediately.

"Petr, from a goalkeeper's perspective, how did you see the game today?"

Čech nodded once.

"It was a good performance from the team."

His voice was steady.

Measured.

"We controlled large parts of the game."

He paused briefly.

"Of course, we conceded one goal, which is never ideal."

A slight shrug.

"But overall, we defended well."

Another question followed quickly.

"Jamie Vardy's goal, was there anything you could have done differently?"

Čech didn't hesitate.

"It was a good cross."

He said it plainly.

"And a good header."

No excuses.

No deflection.

"Sometimes you have to accept the quality of the opponent."

He added,

"But we reacted well after that."

A journalist in the back raised his voice slightly.

"Petr, how important is it to start the season with a win like this?"

Čech nodded again.

"Very important."

He leaned forward slightly.

"It gives you momentum."

"It gives you belief."

He glanced briefly toward Francesco.

"And when your striker scores three goals, it makes things easier."

A few quiet laughs rippled through the room.

Čech allowed a small smile.

Then returned to his usual calm.

Another question came.

"What did you think of Francesco's performance today?"

Čech looked at him briefly.

Then back at the journalist.

"He was excellent."

Simple.

Clear.

"He took his chances."

"And he worked hard for the team."

That was it.

No exaggeration.

But somehow, it carried weight.

The moderator nodded again.

"Thank you, Petr."

He turned.

"And now, Francesco."

There was a slight shift in the room.

Subtle.

But noticeable.

More eyes lifted.

More cameras adjusted.

Chapter 584 - 550. Aftermath Of The First Match